


Say Not A Word (i can hear you)

by Verti



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama, M/M, Musicians! AU, Talent Show! AU, slight angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-24 18:31:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3779731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verti/pseuds/Verti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a no brainer that the upcoming college band 'Sindria' has a clear shot to winning first prize at the talent show-- that is, until the arrival of certain white-haired and freckled musical prodigy on campus sends Sinbad's world spinning out of control, and he finds himself chasing after someone who may as well condemn him to a musical hell.</p><p>College Musicians!AU SinJa, mixed together with fluff, angst, and an eventual good helping of smut! *ON HIATUS UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all those who bothered opening up and reading this written fantasy of mine! I hope that it's to your liking, and an extra thanks to anyone who leaves kudos here~
> 
> So this is my contribution to the adorable amazing indescribable pairing SinbadXJafar! I've had this idea going on inside my head for quite a long time, so it's nice to finally get it out and posted~ Enjoy!

There are times when Sinbad is a simpering, brainless, goddamned _idiot_.

 

Ja'far concludes that now is such an occasion as he sits rigid at his desk, face flushed twenty shades of red and repeating to himself over and over again _do not break the ballpoint pen, it'll make a horrible mess over your homework and hands, and you'll have to spend the rest of the day cleaning it up--_ although the thought of ruining his papers serves as no restrainst whatsover, considering how white his knuckles look clutched around the pen and how his grip on the plastic casing seems to tighten every _millescond_ he spends glaring up at Sinbad.

 

"Sin," he hisses through gritted teeth, "what are you doing here." It comes out more like a blunt, hard statement than a question, and Ja'far's glad for that when he glimpses something that looks like uncertainty (and fear, _good_ ) that passes behind Sinbad's eyes after the words leave his mouth. But the hesitation is gone almost immediately, replaced by a smile that's even brighter than the one Sinbad had on when he kicked open the doors to Ja'far's study hall, barged in along with the rest of the Sindria and launched into the introduction of the song with three beats of Masrur's drumsticks right in front of Ja'far's desk. 

 

"It's for you," Sinbad says loudly over Sharrkan's guitar solo, grin still plastered on his face. "I wrote it especially for this opportunity. Do you know how hard it is to carry a drumset and a grand piano across campus and up seven flights of stairs?" He leans over the desk, and cups Ja'far's face with his left hand before dragging it through the smaller teen's hair. Ah, it's as silky and fine as always, never mind that the girls sitting nearby start giggling when he brushes silver bangs back and presses a light kiss onto Ja'far's forehead.

 

Sinbad's hand feels nice, and Ja'far tries to ignore how the feeling of Sinbad's callouses against his scalp makes him all the more eager to press up into his touch. He makes a face instead, and swats Sinbad away. "I get that, but you couldn't have picked a less... public time to act as inspiration? Less public, as in preferably not in the middle of study hall and in front of fifty other students?" His brow furrows deeper and Ja'far spares a glance at Spartos as he sits back further in his chair. "That chord sounds wrong. Try A minor."

 

Sinbad cocks his head at that and listens. Now that Ja'far mentions it, the bass part _does_ sort of sound off with Sharrkan's shredding. Ah, well, he'll give himself ten points for effort. "My bad, we only had time to do one run-through before it was showtime. I'll change it later."

 

"Never mind, I'm surprised you managed to come up with an instrumental solo that isn't hazardous in any way to my otic health in whatever little time you had to compose this behind my back..." A sigh, and Ja'far pinches the gap between his eyes in an attempt to push back the pounding headache about to surface due to Masrur's incessant- erm, pounding- on the bass drum and Sharrkan's screaming. "...Although you could afford to lose the speakers and drop the rapping next time, I feel like the doctor's going to diagnose me with migraines any minute and Sharrkan's going to rupture his vocal chords sooner or later."

 

Sinbad pouts. "Not a word of thanks at all? I didn't nearly break my neck carrying Yamuraiha's piano to be chastised for my apparent tone-deafness."

 

"Pity."

 

"Hey!!"

 

"I was joking. Really, I appreciate the fact that you wrote this for me-" _-as well as a couple hundred other songs that seem to share the exact same lyrics-_ "and you're getting better at composing. Stop pouting, they've reached the bridge."

 

"So mean! I poured my blood, sweat and alcohol into this, you know!"

 

"... That sounds awfully disturbing and disgusting at the same time. If you want to impress me, try _not_ storming into my classes on a daily basis with the same exact song played at different pitches-- or at least let me help with the accompaniment. Quality over quantity, Sin, you'll ruin Sindria's reputation among the students at this rate."

 

"Will do," Sinbad mock-salutes and winks at the camera of one of the girls as she angles the lenses towards him. He plucks the pen from Ja'far's hand and slides it behind his ear before striking four long chords on his guitar. "Ah, that'll be my cue to start up the chorus again. Enjoy the show, my lead vocalist."

 

"I'd rather be performing in it," is the dry retort, but Ja'far leans back anyways and stretches, a small smile toying on his lips as Sinbad launches into the chorus with a shout and two strums of his electric guitar. 

 

X~X~X

 

_One year ago._

 

News of the talent show comes as a surprise to Sinbad, which really is a demeaning blow to his reputation, considering how he's everyone's "go to" for juicy gossip of relationships and large upcoming school events-- like a dance held at the local club Heliohapt, or a pool party, or a _goddamned talent show_. Even the weight of the guitar in his hands, the vibrations from the strummed strings that run up his arm and resonate through his entire body do little to mollify, and he grits his teeth and shreds for a full minute, filling the practice room with fast-paced arpeggios as his fingers fly across the frets.

 

"Oi, you're going to break the thing if you keep using it to vent your frustration."

 

Sinbad strikes one final chord before plopping down onto a chair with a scowl, eyes narrowed as he watches Sharrkan fiddle with the tuning pegs. "It's not my fault people neglect to tell me the biggest things that are going around in school. What do I care about Alibaba's 'man-up' party? The kid's not even old enough to drink, much less sneak into strip club. I've got better things to do, like playing lead for Sindria when we win the talent show."

 

"You were pretty enthusiastic when he brought the matter up and asked you to act as his mentor," Spartos hardly glances up from his phone, even as he stoops down to plug in the bass guitar. "Alibaba, that is. And I seem to recall a specific someone complaining that they had absolutely nothing to do." 

 

Sinbad makes another face. "Well, that was _before_ I heard that there was a talent show going on, and I'm feeling very dejected right now. They didn't even tell me when the auditions were, and that was after I found about the talent show!"

 

"The auditions are on Tuesday," The door opens and Drakon steps in, places two large packs of beer onto Sinbad's stomach, and pops the cap open on one. "I'm surprised you haven't heard about it, it's going to be the largest musical event of the year, but I do understand why others wouldn't want you to participate."

 

Well, that's just not very nice.

 

Not to mention it does little to lighten his mood-- ah, he might actually have to get a new guitar after this session, because Sinbad's fingers are itching to press down on someone's windpipe, but he can settle for metallic guitar strings instead.

 

"Why not?"

 

Drakon shrugs and takes a sip. "Who knows? But people have been saying that Sindria has a clear shot for first prize, so it's no wonder that people'll try for any chance to prevent us from auditioning."

 

That makes him feel a lot better, even if it sounds a bit worrying, and Sinbad grins and plucks a light-hearted tune, something he wrote ages ago back in high school. "Well then, we'll just have to knock the rest of them off the charts and keep our title as this school's most celebrated band! Masrur, gives us four beats, we're starting off with 'Not Afraid'."

 

"Understood."

 

Four beats in, and Sinbad allows his foot sync in with the rhythm before launching into the introduction of the song, a series of triplet notes played with a finger vibrato, and feels his mood lift instantly alongside the volume of song as Masrur joins in with the drums, then Spartos. His fingers move automatically, tapping and hammering on the fretboard and alternating between rolling the volume knob and strumming, having marked out the same motion over and over again on Sinbad's sleepless nights. Sinbad slips in several transitions and sixteenth notes that blend easily into Sharrkan's alternate picking as he leans towards the microphone to echo the other, and his grin only widens when he sees Drakon set his beer down and join in on the chorus as a baritone.

 

The instrumental comes a few bars later, and Sinbad steps up to take Sharrkan's place at the front, his fingers flying across the guitar at an even faster speed as he twists and bends the melody, drawing it up an octave before sending it crashing down again, the sheer intensity of whirring music engulfing him in an unresponsive state, deaf to everything except the beat of drums, the shredding of multiple electric guitars, the sound of knuckle rapping against a board of metal--

 

The song leaves all of them panting, shirts soaked through, skin gleaming with sweat, and really, it's been ages since Sinbad's properly played like this, gone full out on a song to the point where it feels like he's playing his life out along with every swipe of his guitar pick, and as tired as he may be, Sinbad flexes his fingers and taps out the opening to another song. "You think we can still take this talent show by storm?"

 

Spartos grins (it's a rare sight for any smile to appear on the man's face, much less one as broad as that,) and brushes wet bangs behind his ear as he leans against a speaker. "I would say a definite yes."

 

Sharrkan cheers and strikes a sharp chord on his guitar. "To hell with that, we'll bring the whole house down!"

 

"Maybe after we cool down a bit," Drakon sighs and plucks a can from the pack of beer, tossing it to the dark-skinned teen. "Speaking of which, I won't be able to attend the audition next week so feel free to scratch me off the list for jam sessions."

 

"Aah, why not?" Sinbad opens a can and chugs half of it down before stopping to breathe. "The vocals don't sound right without you, and we need a string player for 'Adventure'."

 

"Don't be silly, you have Pisti on vocals." Drakon rolls his eyes. "I've got orchestra rehearsal, so you'll have to make do without my cello. The maximum number of members per group is five, you know."

 

Sinbad pouts and counts off on his fingers before frowning. That... Is rather upsetting. "But we have me, Sharrkan, Masrur, Spartos, Pisti, Hinahoho and Yamuraiha; how are we supposed to give the audience a full Sindrian experience if we're three people less?"

 

"Give them as much as we can muster then," Spartos unplugs his bass and tugs open the case's zipper. "I'm taking my leave now, duty calls."

 

"You mean the Student Council Committee?" Sharrkan flops down onto the floor with a grin and gestures with the beer can. "Come on, who cares if one new student gets lost on campus? Give it a rest and hang around for a few hours."

 

"There's plenty of beer to go around," Masrur offers, and Sinbad gives a hoot before pawing at the plastic casing of the pack for another can.

 

Spartos blinks and sidesteps Sharrkan's flailing arms as he makes his way to the door. "Of course not. It's my job to make all new students comfortable on their first day, freshmen or not. Now if you'll excuse me--" He shoulders past Sharrkan and slams the door in his wake.

 

"Aah, he's no fun at all," Sinbad stretches and gives a small yawn. What was he angry about again? Right, not being up-to-date with gossip. At least he's heard of the transfer student, so that's okay. "Say, what's the new student's name again? I think it started with a G-"

 

"J," Masrur says and Sharrkan taps his chin thoughtfully.

 

"Ja- something. I saw his name when I passed through the admissions office. It's spelt really weird, maybe it's Russian."

 

Sinbad snorts and takes another swig of his beer. "Any name that sounds weird is Russian according to you, Sharrkan. Maybe it's Hungarian."

 

"It's really not," Is the harsh, if not slightly exapserated, retort from the corner of the practice room and Sinbad freezes, cranes his neck around and stares into dark, grey eyes that are narrowed into slits and seem to pierce right through him.

 

_Ah, well._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cookie to anyone who can guess the identity of the intruder~ Although it's not exactly ambiguous...
> 
> Anyways, I base Sindria's music on the music of the Japanese American band One OK Rock v.v 
> 
> please listen to "NO SCARED" for reference as to what Sindria's 'Not Afraid' would sound like. I by no means own any music produced by One OK Rock.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! The next chapter will be up soon~


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Ja'far enters stage right*

Sinbad spends a long time gaping at the teenager in front of him. He admits that he actually pays attention to several 'sensible' thoughts, as Yamuraiha calls them, when they flow through his head (like _how long has he been standing there_ , and _damn, he saw us drinking_ and _wow, that guitar is larger than he is, how is he even carrying that?_ ) but for the most part, he's focused on the teenager's exterior, because _hell, that is some good-looking stuff right there_. 

 

Perhaps not the best he's seen, by Sinbad's standards, but definitely enough to turn some heads when walking down the hallway; he's got enough experience with that. Anyways, Sinbad's encountered quite a lot of slightly... _odd_ individuals in his life, particularly during his time as a street musician in middle school, so it's not that big of a deal to him when someone alters their appearance on a large scale. After all, Sharrkan's always going about paying visits to tanning salons, Yamuraiha has those extremely large and awfully heavy earmuffs things, _whatever the hell they are_ , and even Masrur has this weird Fanalis cult thing going on, where every member of his group dyes their hair bright red and wears pink contacts and eyeliner.

 

But the thing that gets him is that as abnormal as it may be, everything about the teenager before him seems _natural_ \-- from the sparkling white hair that falls in locks and frames his pale face with silver curtains, to his equally pale complexion that seemed to have never been touched by the light of day, despite the light spray of freckles across the bridge of his nose, to the dark black eyes that contrast so strongly with the unadulterated, blindingly white palette of the boy; how has he never seen him around before?

 

_That's because he's new, numbskull,_ hisses the only part of Sinbad's brain that isn't completely enamoured with the sudden appearance of the teenager, and Sinbad blinks, scratches his head and manages a sheepish smile. What had they been talking about again? Something about Hungary and Russia... Or was it Prussia?

 

"Sin!"

 

Sinbad's jerked out of his haze with a sharp elbow nudge from Sharrkan - ah, pity, he could've gone on for ages counting the number of freckles on the boy's nose. He stands in one fluid motion, purple hair flowing out from behind him, and well, the kid's certainly a lot smaller than Sinbad expected him to be. And a lot more delicate-- _adorable_. Sinbad lids his eyes, stoops down slightly to brush a silver lock behind the boy's ear, and curls his mouth into a small smile as he meets the boy's gaze.

 

"Not Hungarian, then? Quite a pity, you do seem to give off an exotic, unique feel. Although I'm assuming you're not from here, a jewel like yourself is scarcely seen around these parts of the country." 

 

Drakon groans in exasperation.

 

Anyways, Sinbad's gotten together with enough boys and girls alike to know that his compliments never cause them to go away unabashed, especially when he lulls his voice in the same way he does whilst singing, breezing through the syllables mellifluously and enrapturing his audience with his tune. Now that he thinks about it, playing up to someone is really quite similar to playing a song-- maybe that's why he's so good at it. He pauses for the words to sink in and scours the boy's face for any signs of his freckles darkening to a shade of red, or fluster in his expression.

 

He sees, instead, etched very clearly on the pale teenager's face, indifference and slightest bit of disgust.

 

 

_...Damn._

 

 

Ja'far decides that the older teenager before him is an idiot, and most definitely _not worth his time_. He's still sort of trying to remember the reason why he had stopped by the practice rooms on his way to the admissions office in the first place-- perhaps it had been to tune his guitar. But anyways, first things first, and Ja'far fixes the idiot with a glare.

 

"Don't even try."

 

The dark-skinned teenager with the abrasive attitude and horrible screaming gives a whoop of delight and claps. "Rejected after your first try, Sinbad! That's a new record!"

 

Sinbad shrugs off the teasing and turns back to face Ja'far. "Try what? I was just paying you a genuine, heart-felt complimnt."

 

Idiotic _and_ shallow. Great.

 

It's really the perfect combination to make his head hurt, and Ja'far presses two fingers against his temple to ward off the impending wave of nausea. "Really, I'm not interested. I just stopped by the practice rooms when I heard someone playing music-- that was your band, right?"

 

There's a tinge of an accent in his speech- Russian, maybe Sharrkan's right for once- and Sinbad finds himself being drawn in even more, never mind the fact that he was just outright rejected. After all, what is he to refuse a challenge? Sinbad takes a step back and pats his electric guitar proudly. "That was us practicing for the talent show, we're aiming for first prize. Well, there was this other guy, Spartos, but he went to greet you or something as a STUCO rep."

 

The boy scratches his head and frowns. "Ah, my bad then. Tell him I don't really need showing around, I arrived yesterday. Though I have to admit, your school's pretty big."

 

"Largest one in the city, both in student population and facilities." Sinbad says, and lifts his guitar into his arms, throwing the strap over his shoulder as he strums a few notes on it. "Do you play an instrument too?"

 

The boy shrugs. "Sometimes, it's a hobby more or less. You guys sounded pretty good so I thought I would pop in for a moment. How long have you been practicing?"

 

Sinbad finds his grin widening as he finds his own trick used against him, an ambiguous answer that sells no useful information out, immediately followed by a question phrased cleverly so as to coax the opposite end into delving deeper into their answer and thus providing more personal insight-- it's something Sinbad's used over the years, during his job interviews with recording companies and the occasional curious spectator.

 

"Quite a while," he replies, keeping his answer equally vague. Two can play at that game. "We're mostly a rock band, but we do other genres like jazz and pop."

 

The boy shrugs and eyes Sinbad's guitar. "You've got essentially all the components needed for a balanced band, and from what I heard, you guys don't make for that bad of a rock song. I'd say you've got a good chance at winning the talent show, that song sounded good."

 

"I can't say I'm not happy to hear that," Sinbad winks, and ah, screw whatever makeshift game he thinks is going on between them, the conversation is dragging out way to long for his liking. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch your name-"

 

"Ja'far," Ja'far offers, and glares pointedly at Sharrkan. "For your information, it's actually Arabic."

 

Sharrkan lets out a low whistle and tutts. "Not Russian then? Damn, I thought I was right, with your appearance and accent."

 

"My-" Ja'far almost lets slip _employer_ before he catches himself. They don't like it when he discloses information about the Organization to others, especially those who technically count as strangers. "-foster family named me."

 

"Foster family?" Drakon cocks an eyebrow from where he's leaning against a wall. "You're adopted?"

 

"Yeah, I guess."

 

"That's so cool! What happened to your real parents?"

 

"They..."

 

Ja'far gets a distant look in his eyes and he starts shifting uncomfortably, pulling his sleeves down lower and fidgeting with the strap of his guitar case, and Sinbad decides that the subject needs to change, _now_. So he strikes another chord and shoots a sharp glance at both Drakon and Sharrkan before looking back, grin still plastered on his face. "Ja'far, huh? You play guitar, right?"

 

Ja'far stares at Sinbad for moment, as if the words are taking longer to register in his mind (Sinbad ignores the gnawing curiosity that sprouts from the sudden hesitation of the boy, and instead makes a note to avoid discussing anything related to adoption with Ja'far), and then the dullness fades from his eyes and he blinks. "I'm sorry?"

 

"Do you play guitar?" Sinbad gestures towards the instrument strapped behind Ja'far's guitar. "I'm guessing from the fact that you're carrying one right now."

 

"Ah, yeah. I do, sometimes," Maybe it wasn't really a good idea to stop by and listen to Sinbad's playing, especially now that the man's three bandmates are staring at him with looks of puzzlement and curiosity, and his hands sting painfully with the sudden appearance of a cold sheen of sweat on his palms. "I need to go." The world swims in and out of focus, and Ja'far winces and staggers a bit when several images flash through his mind at bullet-speed. His hands goes to grip the door handle, and gives a "tch" of annoyance when turning the metal shaft and opening the door suddenly takes a lot more effort than it should. 

 

"Wait!" Sinbad starts after him, reaching out to grab Ja'far's wrist. "I'm sorry if we've upset you someho-!"

 

Something's not quite right.

 

Sinbad draws his hand back and stares at the dark red smudges on it. "This..."

 

Ja'far bites his lip, and tugs his sleeve down even more to conceal the scratches and bruises that dye his arms hues of red and black with their numbers. Never mind that the blood is probably going to seep through the fabric-- he'll worry about that later. For now, he feels like he's going to die underneath the surprised and -worst of all- _questioning_ gazes of Sinbad and the others (his growing headache isn't exactly helping either).

 

But then something shifts behind Sinbad's eyes and the confusion and curiosity changes into something else, sympathy mixed with another emotion that Ja'far's never seen before, and instead of backing away in disgust (like he _should_ ), Sinbad just steps closer and takes Ja'far's hand again. 

 

"I'm not going to ask what happened," he says, pauses, and Ja'far gapes at him.

 

 

.... That's certainly a different response than what he normally gets.

 

 

Sinbad looks straight into Ja'far's grey eyes that are filled with confusion and panic, like the fearful eyes of a deer caught in headlights, and recognises the same sort of desperation in the boy's eyes that used to fill his own, as well as Masrur's, Drakon's and the rest of the band's before they had gotten together to form Sindria. "Ja'far, whatever "- _whoever_ -" is bothering you can't reach you anymore. You're safe here."

 

It's so wrong that Ja'far barks out what he thinks is a laugh, because the Organization has ears and eyes everywhere; he's always been under close watch, ever since he was a child, and Ja'far finds it very hard to believe that the brick walls of the college are going to keep him "safe", when countless of others have failed before it.

 

He shakes Sinbad off, not bothering to notice how the older boy's hands are stained with more scarlet than before, nor how the pulsing in his temple sends sharp stabs of pain coursing through his head, and readjusts his grip on the handle, succeeding in opening the door a second time. "Don't speak words you can't guaranteed, Sinbad, you'll get other people's hopes up. Good luck with the talent show, anyways."

 

He slams the door behind him, and Sinbad's left staring at the empty space where Ja'far was as the pungent smell of blood fills the practice room.

 

 

X~X~X

 

 

Ja'far takes a sharp turn and ducks behind a corner, glancing back to see if Sinbad or the loud one bothered following him. Instead, the screeching of electric guitars and thumping of drums starts up again, along with the rapping and screaming, and Ja'far isn't exactly sure whether he should be relieved or not. The song does little to relieve his headache, and he leans against the wall, shielding his eyes against the suddenly too-bright lights.

 

Ah, acting like that really tired him out.

 

"Well, if it isn't Freckles."

 

Ja'far hardly shifts from his position, even when his blood runs cold at the familiar, mocking drawl. 

 

"Hello, Judal."

 

"Say, Freckles, what are you doing here hiding with your tail tucked between your legs?"

 

Ja'far sighs at the younger boy's tone and-- _urgh, where the hell is his aspirin_ before retorting. Ah, he can't be bothered with opening his eyes, not when there's still a dull ache in his temple, and the wall is offering him more support than he admits.

 

"I'm not hiding, Judal. It's just a headache."

 

"You get headaches all the time," comes the whine, and the tickling touch of soft strands of hair on his skin is enough to indicate that Judal's leaned in and invaded his personal space. Not that it matters to the runt, anyways.

 

"It's not my fault I had to spend an hour listening to yelling and off-tuned singing and playing," Ja'far cracks a bleary eye open just in time to see Judal frown, tiny wrinkles appearing across his forehead.

 

"Really? They sounded pretty good to me." Judal pushes off from the wall and smiles a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "But then again, who am I to argue with a _musical prodigy_?" 

 

The last few words are spat out, and Ja'far doesn't even flinch when slender hands grip his collar and yank him forwards with a jolt. "Don't act so stingy, the Organization hardly pampers me as much as they do you."

 

"Because I'm the _better_ musician," Judal growls. "Why the hell did they transfer you over here anyways? This school is _my_ turf."

 

"Have you considered the fact that perhaps you were not receiving as many accolades as they wanted? From what I heard, Sinbad ranks higher than you in both popularity _and_ talent." Ja'far stares up at Judal with half-lidded eyes of disinterest, twitches the corner of his mouth upwards and smirks.

 

Judal shoves him into the wall, hard and ah, that hurt slightly, but it's so hilarious how quickly Judal's riled up that Ja'far can't help but chuckle.

 

"Shut _up_."

 

"Sensitive," Ja'far meets Judal's blazing red gaze with an icy cold one, and it just makes the whole ordeal even more amusing when he notices that the smile is off Judal's face, and instead _he's_ the one smiling now. "You won't be getting anywhere with that attitude."

 

"Wrong," The fire in the scarlet eyes dies out, and Judal's mouth spreads into a cheeky grin. "The school loves me all the same. I can act however the hell I want, do whatever the hell I want here. They just want me for my music, the selfish fucking bastards."

 

"You're such an attention whore," Ja'far murmurs, and reaches out to brush away several loose strands of black hair from Judal's face. "Let me have the spotlight for once, will you? It'll be over quick, I promise."

 

Judal prods at Ja'far's hand and licks at the blood that smudges onto his fingertips. "Fine, the talent show has boring prizes anyways. I'd like to see you knock that stupid Sinbad down a few notches, especially when he's taken a liking to you."

 

"I can see that," Ja'far says, and tilts Judal's chin upwards to face him. "He's an obnoxious idiot, isn't he?"

 

"Even worse," Judal sniffs and traces around the light, but still fresh wounds on Ja'far's hands in a way that sends small electric shocks running up the latter's arms. "He's stupid, mean, and he thought I was a girl at first!" He steps in closer, and grabs Ja'far by the collar again, this time to pull him down and mouth hungrily at his nape with a small whine, breath hot and ragged. "I haven't had a decent partner in such a loonggg time..."

 

"Not that bad of a mistake," Ja'far runs his hands down Judal's bodyline, feeling every bone in his ribcage and the sharp, almost angular corners of his hipbone before coming to a stop at the boy's thighs, kneading the soft flesh there gently. It's rare that Judal's in a mood like this, especially around Ja'far, though even now he's just humoring the kid. Not that Ja'far doesn't enjoy being around Judal when he's more prone to his docile nature than usual... "Really? I thought you liked the submissive type."

 

"Shut up," Judal nips once at Ja'far's ear and draws aways, eyes narrowing. "Someone's coming."

 

Ja'far cocks his ear, and sure enough, there's the sound of footsteps echoing across the hallway, drawing closer to their corner. He shoulders his guitar, glancing quickly around the corner. 

 

When he looks back, Judal's already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading the second chapter of my first ever SinJa fanfiction! I'm so happy with all of the amazing comments and feedback I received from the first chapter askda; ;_; I really appreciate your kudos and comments, it means so much to me to know that people are enjoying this little fic of mine!
> 
> Anyways, I have a habit of explaining and elaborating on certain events that occur in each chapter, but I won't be doing it less I let something slip out about the plot. But yes, this fanfiction will contain the very slightest of JUJA, and possibly SINJU now that Judal's made an appearance. I will also be adding on more tags as the fic goes on.
> 
> Thank you all so much once again for reading this chapter, I sicerely hope you enjoyed it! <3 The next chapter will be up soon!


	3. Chapter 3

Truth be told, Sharrkan and Yamuraiha's relationship is far from one Sinbad would deem healthy, and a whole lot closer to his definition of a disease-ridden, crippling _hell_ \-- so it doesn't come as that much of a surprise when Sharrkan sets his lunch tray down heavily at the cafeteria table and confesses to getting into another argument with Yamuraiha.

 

It _is_ surprising, in a very, _very_ bad way, when he adds that he may or may not have caused Yamuraiha to forfeit performing with the band at the talent show in a fit of rage, and possibly quit the band altogether.

 

Sinbad can only gape at him along with the rest of Sindria, his sandwich half-way to his mouth and long since forgotten.

 

" _You did what_?"

 

Sharrkan blinks, gives an unconvincing, nervous chuckle and suddenly looks very interested in his tortilla. "We're breaking up, I think."

 

"About time, too," Pisti scoffs and turns back to her salad, plucking an olive from amidst the green leaves and popping it into her mouth. She chews thoughtfully and extends a hand towards the group, fingers outstretched. "20 bucks, pay up."

 

"You were betting on us?!"

 

"Sit down, Sharrkan, you're causing a scene." Drakon glances up to cock an elegantly sculpted (and disinterested) eyebrow at Sharrkan as he slips a few notes into Pisti's hand. Another cool but warning glance around him sends the spectators from other tables turning their heads away, although it does little to stop the rising murmur of gossip, and Drakon leans back in his chair. "Tell us what happened." 

 

"O-okay," Sharrkan pulls out a chair, plops himself down onto it, and immediately starts fidgeting, casting uneasy glances at Sinbad as his hands proceed to wring the life out of each other. "So, u-uh, we got together afterschool to practice- after our jam session, you know- and I wanted to work on some guitar chords-"

 

Hell, the man looks like he's about to piss himself, what with how he jolts and jerks in his chair at the slightest twitch of Sinbad's eyebrows, and the sudden appearance of a sheen of cold sweat on tanned skin, as if Sinbad's a volcanic eruption waiting to explode the moment the wrong word leaves Sharrkan's mouth.

 

Which isn't that far from reality, to be honest.

 

But anyways, Sinbad sighs and settles for rubbing his temple and gesturing for Sharrkan to continue, before the kid actually _decides_ to wet himself in terror. "Go on."

 

"A-ah, right," Sharrkan nods twice and swallows. "So we were practicing, and then I told her she was out of tune, and then she told me that _I_ was the one off-tune because she had the tuner, and then I told her that she didn't know anything about electronic instruments because all _she_ cared about was acoustic, and then she got angry and said that there wasn't anything wrong with acoustic or classical and then I said acoustic was boring and then she said metal was too loud and then I called her a hag and I don't know, she got angry and stormed out and said she didn't want to play with me anymore!!" Sharrkan huffs in triumph and slams his hands down onto the table, panting from his sudden outburst. "So it's not my fault!"

 

...Sinbad's not sure whether to laugh or cry at how much of an senseless idiot Sharrkan can be at times.

 

Admittedly, not everyone possesses his innate charisma and charm (Sinbad ignores how his mind flashes to Ja'far, whom his charisma and charm had no effect on whatsover, and _oh, that just makes it so much more fun_ -), especially least of all Sharrkan, who seems to have no regard whatsover for a woman's interests and only an eye for his own, but even this is a new level of disappointment for the dark-skinned teen, to the point where it's hilarious.

 

Sharrkan glares at him, face flushed and- ah, Sinbad can't breathe, and his sides feel like they're going to split- "Stop laughing! It's not my fault, I told you!"

 

"... It's your fault." Masrur blinks at Sharrkan before spearing a piece of tofu with the end of his shish kebab.

 

"Like hell!"

 

"You were the one who called her a hag, you know," Hinahoho points out, giving a small chuckle of his own. "No wonder she stormed out."

 

"For someone who doesn't care, you really looked sad, Sharr," Pisti grins. "Are you scared Yamu's not coming back?"

 

"There's no way I am-- who cares about that damn devil woman anyways?" Sharrkan scoffs and slams his fist on the table again, spilling a few drops of water from his glass. "Besides, she can't even handle an joke properly!"

 

Sinbad gives one last laugh, brushing away a tear from the corner of his eye. "Is that what this is all about? Just Yamuraiha storming out on you? You had me worried for a moment!"

 

Sharrkan pauses, rolls his eyes towards the ceiling in deep thought and taps his chin. "Nah, after that she came back in and said that she was going to enter the talent show by herself and kick my ass. And _then_ she left."

 

 

Oh. 

 

 

That certainly does well to dampen his mood.

 

 

Sinbad stands abruptly, and stalks towards the cafeteria exit, snagging Sharrkan by the shirt collar as he passes him. "Right, we're finding Yamuraiha and you're apologizing even if I have to sit your ass down myself."

 

"Hey, let me go! I'm not apologizing, it's her fault! We don't need seven band members for the talent show anyways, it's five people tops!"

 

While a pianist is definitely an odd addition to a rock band such as Sindria, Yamuraiha's the only one who's actually got a shred of responsibility and organisation skills amongst them, excluding Drakon and Spartos-- the latter two hardly turn up at rehearsals anyways. Not to mention, she's usually the one organizing practices when Sinbad's too busy goofing off- or rather, visiting nearby bars and the occasional strip club- and the only one in the group who's well-versed in music theory and chords, having passed all piano grade exams by the age of twelve.

 

There's also her numerous piano and singing competition awards to be taken into account as well, and the stutter in Sharrkan's voice indicates that as ignorant as the teenager is, even _he_ knows that Yamuraiha is a force to be reckoned, both physically and musically. 

 

"Leave him be, Sin," Drakon says. "The two of them can sort their ties with each other out later. Unless Yamuraiha can find a partner in the three days before the audition, she won't be allowed to enter."

 

"Partner?" Sinbad frowns and loosens his grip on Sharrkan's shirt. "Since when did talent shows have such tight limitations?" An image of pale, freckled and beautiful playing beside him in a perfect duet pops into his mind, and Sinbad brushes it away without a second thought ( _focus_ \-- besides, he's hasn't even heard ja'far play yet).

 

"Since today," Pisti yawns and flashes her phone at him, the brightly colored advertisement for the talent show displayed across its screen. "There's been a rule change, you can't enter the show as a lone performer. Says so on the school's blog."

 

Sinbad furrows his brows more and leans in to read the small print. Annoying; looks like he's still not up-to-date with gossip. "That's an awfully late notice-- how come I'm hearing about this now?"

 

"Beats me," Spartos shrugs. "One of the Music Ambassadors added the rule without the Student Council's consent. It's not like we can do anything to stop them anyways."

 

This is the sort of thing that just screams Judal, loud and clear. A glance at the rest of the band members tells him that they're coming to the same conclusion as well-- after all, Judal's the very embodiment of arrogance and opportunistic, traits that are only exemplified by the title he holds as one of the four Music Ambassadors of the school. 

 

"But why would he change the rules though?" Hinahoho rubs his stubble and kicks his feet onto the table. "It doesn't seem to benefit him in anyway."

 

Ah, so he's not the only one who's come to know Judal's feline and utterly self-indulgent nature. Nevermind that he hasn't seen the kid in a long time (not that he cares, and Sinbad pushes away the thought of feeling silky black strands between his fingers, his hands full of slender waist and pale skin, and a pair of hungry, eager red eyes staring up at hi- _not now, goddamnit_ ), Sinbad makes a note to thank the brat in some way for the rule addition.

 

"Because of him, the office was in a turmoil this morning," Spartos says, and there's the slightest hint of annoyance and frustration in his tone. "There were seas of sudents streaming in to demand explanations for the sudden rule change-- it took ages to get them all out and back in class."

 

The chaos certainly sounds like Judal, but it's still not that much of a valid explanation, and Sinbad can only shrug as he tosses his half-eaten sandwich into the bin. He lets his eyes wander, scouring the cafeteria for tufts of white hair or freckled skin before returning back to his seat.

 

Ah, pity.

 

 

X~X~X

 

 

It isn't before long when Judal hears loud, and utterly _infuriated_ pounding on the door of his dorm.

 

About time, too.

 

He props himself up on his elbows from where he's draped across the common room sofa, mouth spreading into a wide, cheshire-like grin as the hammering continues like machine-gun fire. "You can come in, you know," He calls, rolls over and starts counting the number of broken candle-shaped lightbulbs on the chandelier. 

 

The pounding pauses for a moment, and the loud, cracking sound of old wood, the sudden screech of rusty hinges and the thud of metal against cement tells him that the lock on his door has been very successfully broken. 

 

"Yo, Freckles."

 

Ja'far could strangle Judal. 

 

Honestly, it's extremely tempting to just wrap his hands around the smaller teenager's neck and squeeze, especially when Judal's here, splayed out on the couch and baring his neck to Ja'far, as well as most other parts of his body. Instead, he settles for stalking over and standing over Judal, eyes lidded with disinterest and mouth twisted into a scowl. "Take that stupid tank top off and wear some actual clothes for once, Judal-- you look like a stripper."

 

Judal shrugs and sits up, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. "I wear what I want, Freckles. Besides, I'm not the one wearing _overalls_."

 

Ja'far ignores the snide comment and pulls out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, shoves it at Judal's face. "What the _hell_ is this?"

 

Judal peels the flier off of his face- _geez, Ja'far didn't have to be_ that _aggressive_ and pretends to skim over the words on the brightly colored poster, instead reciting mentally the words that he knows are on there. Judal widens his eyes and looks up at Ja'far, expression changing into one of surprise. "A rule change? Why'd they do that?"

 

Ja'far's seen enough of Judal when he's in front of strangers to know when he's acting, and he grabs the younger boy by the collar, jerking him upwards until their eyes level. "Wipe that pathetic expression off your face. You did this, didn't you?"

 

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

 

"Shut. _Up._ "

 

"No, I'm serious! I don't know anything about this!"

 

Ja'far's eyes narrow. "I'm offended that you hold me on the same level as fools, since you seem to expect me to fall for whatever pathetic acting the Organization taught you. Keep in mind that whatever training they gave you, they gave me as well. Now _answer_."

 

Judal's mouth splits into a grin and he holds his hands up in surrender. "Ah, it was worth a try anyways. Sinbad seems to fall for it fine enough."

 

" _Sinbad_ is an idiot who went smitten the second he laid eyes on me." Ja'far sighs, and ah, it hurts just thinking about the event that happened the previous day. "It's no wonder he's hooked on whatever stupid delusion you have him under."

 

"Ahh, that's not very nice, Freckles. Maybe I should tell Stupid Sinbad about what you said the next time I see him, I can't wait to see his expression."

 

"If you do that, my connection to the Organization will be revealed." Ja'far blanches. "I heard that Sinbad found out about _your ties_ with Al-Thamen. The idiot saw the cuts they left on me since my last failure, there's no way he'll keep quiet about them once he finds out I'm Al-Thamen as well."

 

"I dunno, Stupid Sin can be very unpredictable, you know," Judal gives a yawn. "He just goes off and does whatever he wants, so annoying."

 

"That sounds like a certain someone I know." Ja'far scoffs and settles for the armrest of the couch. "Why did you add the rule, Judal?"

 

"Because school spiriiiitt!" Judal flops back onto the couch and flings his arms up into the air. "MAs need to encourage mass participation in what little events this stupid school holds, so what better than to set a requirement for entering?"

 

"Clearly all that drumming has damaged more than just your eardrums-- has it crossed your mind at all that the limit of five participants per group completely contradicts your plan to encourage 'mass participants'?

 

"Eh, that's Sinbad's problem, he can't enter with his entire band of idiots now." Judal yawns. Ah, if he knew his conversation with Ja'far would be dragging on like this, he would've brought his blanket to the couch. "What _do_ you want, Freckles? It's pretty obvious that I made the rule change, no need to break down my door like a PMSing woman."

 

God, Ja'far can feel the vein bulge on his forehead and he shoves the seething anger back, takes a deep breath to prepare his pride for what is to come. "I need a partner."

 

Oh, he'd be lying if Judal said he doesn't like where _this_ is going.

 

"So...?"

 

Ja'far's pretty sure his fingernails are adding more scars to his palms, with how much they cut into the flesh at the sight of Judal's smug, _shit-eating_ grin. _God, he swears that he's going to smash Judal's face into the wall and laugh if he doesn't wipe that smile off his face this instant--_

 

"Will you be my partner?"

 

"Will you be my partner what?"

 

Hopefully Judal doesn't mind the taste of cement and plaster.

 

"...Will you be my partner _please_."

 

"Hmm," Judal turns his eyes up to the ceiling as he reaches over to trace a slender finger down Ja'far's back. "I doon't knoooww, I like working alone."

 

"Liar." Ja'far says, not bothering to keep the growl out of his voice as he slaps Judal's hand away. Definitely not in the mood right now, and the pout on Judal's face tells him that the boy can see that very clearly. "I know you play drummer in Kou."

 

"Ah, you've heard of them?" There's slightly more pride in Judal's tone than normal as he perks up, slouches down again in a matter of milleseconds. "They're goood, especially Kouen, and they don't scream or cry during my practice sessions like the others do."

 

"Really?" Ja'far cocks an eyebrow. "I suppose that does award them some merit then."

 

"Ha is really good at singing and Mei on the bass, but he always falls asleep and doesn't turn up at practices, Gyoku can play a bunch of woodwinds and Ei can play a bunch of strings and the piano, like Ryuu..." Judal prattles on and counts off on his fingers. "Gyoku and Ryuu are high-schoolers so they can't join, but we still have five members to enter!"

 

" _Are_ you entering?"

 

"Dunno, En's been ignoring me lately..." Judal rolls over onto his stomach and huffs. "Jeez, even if they're fun to play with, they're all such drags in real lifeee..."

 

"Perhaps I could offer a partnership to one of them," Ja'far starts slowly. If Kou could stand Judal's sessions, then practicing with them shouldn't be that boring. "They're favoured by the Organization, aren't they?"

 

"Yeah, and no," Judal says, and frowns. "Wait, other way around. You can't choose them, they're mine. Go find another partner, use your freckles powers or something."

 

"My freckles don't _have_ any powers, much less ones that can attract a suitable partner for the auditions." Ja'far crosses his arms and sighs. "Judal, I don't _know_ anyone here, save for you. How am I supposed to recruit someone in the span of three days?"

 

"Not my problem, Freckles." Judal shrugs. "I don't know, just pair up with Sinbad or something."

 

"..You've got to be joking."

 

Another shrug. "I'd like to play with him once, but En won't let me because Stupid Sin's in a different band, spoilsport. Ah, Sinbad beds _reaaally_ well, you know..." The mere thought sends a small twitch to Judal's cock-- really, it's hard not to forget the first time they tried it, not even _En_ could make him come that hard, urgh, it's such a pity En won't let him see Sinbad anymore-- "Beds so much better than you..."

 

"I don't care, it's not like I do it for fun anyways." Ja'far makes a face. Leave it to Judal to sleep with the leader of Kou's rival band. "I'll never understand why something as _useless_ and _annoying_ as sex appeals to you. Stop changing the subject."

 

Heck, he doesn't think there's ever been a time he's bedded a person, female or not, and enjoyed it-- even with Judal, all these times he's only been humoring the boy during his sexual frustration periods.

 

" _You_ don't appeal to sex." Judal says snidely and huffs, wriggling his fingers at Ja'far. "You're so freckly and frigid and _bleh_ , I don't get why some of Al-Thamen look at you in that way, it's disgusting and weird and disgusting. You don't bed that well, you just lie down on the bed and let me ride you most of the time. It's boorring, you don't even blush or scream or anything--" 

 

"I seem to recall someone stating that it had been ages since they had a decent partner," Ja'far cuts in sharply, because even if he gives as much thought to Judal's ramblings as he does a grain of sand, listening to the boy whine is still really _damn_ annoying. 

 

 

"-- bet you Sinbad could make you scream."

 

 

Ja'far blinks, nearly chokes on his own tongue.

 

_"What?"_

 

There's a large grin on Judal's face as he reaches over to the coffee table and grabs a peach. "Even if you are a frigid little snake."

 

Right. Forget his plan to form a duet with Judal, Ja'far's surprised he even managed to take part in a conversation with the stupid brat.

 

Ja'far stands abruptly and stalks to the door, trying to ignore the way his face is burning and how the skin on his palms are flushed darker than he's ever seen them. "Don't be silly, I have no intention of bedding someone like him."

 

"Ah, it's fine-- you're not his type anyways." Judal says, still draped over the couch, and Ja'far slams the door in his face.

 

 

X~X~X

 

 

Sinbad's sort of ambling down the hall to his Economics classroom when he spots a flash of white hair amongst the steady flow of students rushing to their next lesson.

 

A smile breaks out across his face, and then he's brushing past students, dodging teachers and tripping over bags and textbooks, before finally planting his hand on Ja'far's right shoulder and spinning the boy round to face him (though not before glancing downwards, and wow, those jeans look _tight_ ). "Yo, Ja'far!"

 

Ja'far's trying to find his way to his Economics Class-- god, this school's even larger than his last one, the corridors resembling a labyrinth more than actual hallways- when some idiot grips him by the shoulders and practically wrenches him off his feet. 

 

It's by instinct that he immediately considers the movement to be an assault, and so it's by instinct that he turns, lashes out with a snarl, arm twisting to lunge at the guy's neck, fingers outstretched and going wrap around his exposed throat, aiming to squeeze and squeeze until the light fades from his eyes, his voice dies down, and his body goes limp, until something in the back of his mind tells him _you can't kill or hurt or choke, you're at school for god's sake_. He also takes a better look at the assailant, and when he sees the wide golden eyes and violet hair tied back in a ponytail, he groans and drops the arm.

 

"...Woah," Sinbad blinks and lets go, surprised. It's not really the violent response he received that shocks him, but more so the look on Ja'far's face when he had turned: pupils contracted into slits and a growl on his lips. Sinbad briefly reflects on how feral and _scared_ Ja'far had looked when he had initiated contact, like a cornered animal, and how he had aimed for his throat without a single shred of hesitation. He shakes the thought away and plasters a bright grin on his face. "That was some move, Ja'far! I couldn't even see it coming!"

 

Ja'far resists the temptation to rolls his eyes at the ceiling, instead using them to scour Sinbad for any injuries he may have inflicted unknowingly. He doesn't see any harm down, and huh, now that Ja'far's taken a closer look, Sinbad _is_ pretty good-looking. 

 

There's just something that stands out about Sinbad, something Ja'far can't quite determine. Maybe it's the way his purple hair (a color that's not exactly out of the ordinary in this school, Ja'far notes) shimmers and cascades down his broad shoulders in long locks, or the way small creases form at the corners of his golden eyes at the times Ja'far's seen him smiling, or the way his dark purple shirt seems way too small and is currently stretched across his broad chest, white buttons prone to popping off anytime and revealing a toned, chiselled and tanned--

 

 

No. 

 

Stop.

 

 

He does _not_ need to think about that right now.

 

... Goddamnit, Judal.

 

 

Ja'far shoves the thoughts from his head and settles for a shrug. "What can I say? You startled me."

 

Sinbad's smile turns sheepish and he scratches his head. "Ah, sorry about that. I was just a bit excited, I haven't seen you around for days since you dropped by the practice rooms!"

 

"... It's only been two," Ja'far says slowly as the events come to mind, and what _wouldn't_ he do in order to shake Sinbad off and forget about the entire ordeal. Still though, he forces down the frustration bubbling up in him and keeps his face calm.

 

Sinbad flashes back to the look of hopeless resignation on Ja'far's face in the practice rooms and doesn't bother pressing further into the teenager's strange behavior at that time, and how Ja'far's probably wearing a mask of emotions and personality right now. "Anyways, has anyone shown you around yet?"

 

"No, I don't ne-!"

 

"Great, it's my job then!" Sinbad clamps his hand onto Ja'far's shoulder and peers at his schedule. "Hey, you have Econ with me!"

 

Ja'far blinks and looks down at the paper. "I do?" Great.

 

"Yep! Room 234! It's this way, follow me," Sinbad grasps Ja'far by his wrist, feeling the same small ridges and pucked skin of scars underneath his fingertips and not minding them this time, as he weaves in and out of passing students.

 

Ja'far frowns and allows himself to be led to the classroom. "Are you always this pushy?"

 

Only when I'm with someone who's clearly hurting and not admitting to it. 

 

Sinbad looks back and winks. "Take my pushiness as an apology for offending you in anyway in the practice rooms!" 

 

His brows furrow more and Ja'far thinks he starts to get what Judal had meant by 'unpredictable'. "You didn't offend me. Even if you did, you don't have to apologize."

 

Ah, Sinbad's only known Ja'far for two days, but that reply alone is enough to make Sinbad's heart tighten like a vice.

 

"What are you saying?" Sinbad laughs, and hopefully it doesn't sound that strained. He sits Ja'far down in the desk beside him, and screw Sharrkan, the guy can always find another seat at the back of the room. "Of course I'd have to apologize!"

 

The blank look Ja'far gives him makes his smile falter _just that bit._

 

Sinbad's once again reminded of seeing the same looks on all of his bandmates' (no, _family_ ) faces when he had encountered them, and he sits down at his desk as the teacher enters the room. He casts one last sidelong glance at Ja'far before class starts.

 

 

_I saved them from whatever that was hurting them and took them in as my own family._

 

 

 

_...I'll do the same for you as well._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exposition Chapter~ Sorry for the delay in updating, but I currently have exams going on right now D: I promise the next chapter will be up sooner (and contain more SinJa)!
> 
>  
> 
> Also since I'm aiming for more than 3000 words per chapter to give you guys more of my sh*tty writing >:D


End file.
